


Ave Maria

by LadyAmalthea



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Connor is an organist, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Pining, Priest AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23042695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAmalthea/pseuds/LadyAmalthea
Summary: When Father Anderson was assigned this parish, he was told they already had a pianist who came to play for mass, and he was rather relieved.They become fast friends, and grow closer as their share more than just meals together.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 3
Kudos: 68





	Ave Maria

When Father Anderson was assigned this parish, he was told they already had a pianist who came to play for mass, and he was rather relieved. He’d hate to ask the volunteer bookkeeper to find some local college student who cared enough for the measly $20 stipend they could offer. And yet, somehow, this little town had a parishioner who gladly came for free for Sunday masses, and would only ask for minimal compensation for special events, and occasional daytime masses for the elderly folks.

The first few Sundays went very smoothly. He would email with the guy, Connor, with the psalm selections for the week, and the rest was taken care of. The otherwise quiet brunet even led the otherwise reluctant parish in song. He wasn’t an award-winning singer, but he certainly practiced in advance to give the community a good experience. 

It was a nice change from his first church, which closed just last year. They had an old woman who did the music; she was a sweetheart, but had the thickest pair of reading glasses you ever did see.

And then, a few months in, one of the older parishioners passed away. Father Anderson had been called late in the night to give him his last rites, before his eyes closed peacefully. The widow insisted on a mass on Saturday morning, seperate from the busy Sunday one, so that their family could have some privacy. He met with her the following day to discuss readings, and she asked if the usual organist could perform.

To make things easier, Father Anderson made a phone call instead of an email.   
  
He didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt nervous as he dialed the number into his simple little phone, listening to the ringing, ringing, before it was finally picked up.   
  
“Hello?”   
  
He recognized the voice; just as soft and sweet on the phone as it was in the echoing hall of the chapel.

“Hey, uhh… this is Father Anderson, from St. Mark’s?”   
  
There was a brief pause, “Uhh- oh! Yes! Is everything alright?” The voice dripped with concern, and the priest could hear papers fumbling about in the background.   
  
“Mr. Marooney passed away the other night,” he explained, reading through his notes to calm himself. Why was he getting so worked up?

He heard Connor gasp on the other end, “Oh my… that’s so sad. I know he was old, but I thought it was in fairly good health.”   
  
“Yeah, he got sick fairly suddenly. But anyway, the reason I’m calling is because the family would like you to perform for his funeral. It’ll be Saturday morning, around ten. Do you think you can do it?”

There were more papers shifting in the phone’s speaker, “I believe I can, I’ll have to look at my schedule really quick… have you consulted with them in regards to music?”   
  
“Yes, mostly stuff in the hymnal, but Marie would also like some other song-” He tried to skim through his own handwriting, poor as it was. “They specifically asked for ‘Ave Maria’, a certain version…”   
  
“Likely Schubert’s, I would guess. That is the one most people recognize,” Connor explained.

Father Anderson nodded, “Sounds about right.”

“It is-” Connor paused, his voice uncertain. “It is a difficult piece, but I think I can prepare enough of it before the weekend.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you very much. As far as pay, I don’t think-”   
  
“Oh no,” Connor interrupted. “I insist, the family has just suffered a loss. I would not ask them to pay me for this.”

The priest covered his mouth, then adjusted his own reading spectacles. “Are you sure?” He asked, but didn’t leave a moment for a reply. “Why don’t you come to the rectory afterwards, and I’ll make you lunch. Would that be all right?” He pounded his head lightly, it was such a simple offer but he felt so odd suggesting it.   
  
“I would enjoy that immensely, Father. Thank you.” He could almost hear the young man smile through the phone. “Shall I come to the church around nine, so we can go over the everything?”

Exhaling as quietly as possible, Father Anderson replied. “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

\--

It was strange how the weather can sometimes reflect the events around you. That saturday morning was drizzly, but the clouds were still parted enough to allow a little bit of sunshine. When Father Anderson was driving down the street to the church, he made a note to mention it in his sermon toward the end of the service.

When he arrived, he was surprised to see another car already parked out front. He assumed it would be the family, or perhaps a friend of the deceased arranging the flowers that had been ordered. But when he stepped out of the car to stretch his legs, he could faintly hear the sound of an organ coming from inside. Just beyond those crisp, stained-glass windows, Connor was diligently practicing. The priest gave a smile, retrieving his bag from the passenger seat of the decrepit little car and went in through the back entrance to get dressed. 

The young musician had already taken the liberty of turning on the speaker system, for he could hear the music echoing perfectly through the small speaker in his small sacristy. He recognized the melody; it was the last song to be played at the coffin was carried out by the pallbearers. It was solemn piece, and gave a formalness to the celebration of the deceased’s life. Connor did the piece justice with his even tempo; those lithe fingers dancing amongst the keys so effortlessly.

The song ended calmly, with little fanfare. Through the speaker, he could hear Connor sigh a little, just enough for the microphone to pick up, and another song started.

It was much brighter, and flowed gracefully with the introductory measures. And then: singing.

It was certainly no voice for the Met Opera, or any such grand stage, but the sweetness in his timbre sent shivers through listeners. Father Anderson had just finished changing into his darker robes, and even then he could feel the hairs of his neck prick up. 

_ “Ave maria…” _

Indeed, he did recognize this piece, but he could not remember from where. Perhaps before his seminary days, back when he was a husband and… a father to a beautiful son. 

No; he knew this song. This was sung at Cole’s funeral, though not nearly as beautifully as this. 

The small speaker did not do it justice, so he made his way toward the door that lead to the pulpit and opened it just enough to hear.

It was times like this that he remembered why music was considered so highly in religion, why it was guarded so closely and revered to the point where it was considered a way of reaching God. Not just in Christianity, but in many cultures, as well.

_ “Gratia Plena _

_ Maria, gratia plena _

_ Maria, gratia plena _

_ Ave, ave dominus” _

He was grateful that Connor did not hear him, and indeed, did not notice his presence. He sat on one of the small chairs to the side, listening completely quietly.

_ “Dominus tecum, _

_ Benedita-” _

The chords faltered a little, much to the priest’s surprise, as Connor became frustrated at an apparent mistake.

“Damnit-” he heard Connor whisper, and couldn’t help but reveal his presence by chuckling loudly. Which in turn, startled Connor enough to become bright red with shame.

“Oh my Go- goodness! Father, I didn’t hear you come in! I’m so sorry, I-”   
  
The greying man raised a hand, calming the frantic musician as he walked across the pulpit and down the step where the electric keyboard was set up. It was easier than trying to maintain the grand organ up in the loft. 

“I didn’t mean to frighten you, Connor. But, I could not in good conscience interrupt your practice,” he commented smoothly. He sat in the first pew in the nave, just behind where Connor was sitting. “It was very good, the Marooney’s are very blessed to have such a performance for their mass.”

Connor turned away shyly, tucking a loose curl back into the rest of the neatly brushed mop of brown, “it’s getting better. I know the accompaniment fairly well, but I have never sung it before. I appreciate the challenge, actually.”

There was something uncertain in the way he smiled, Father Anderson couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but he smiled fondly in return as he produced his notebook from his cloak. “Please continue, I need to finish editing the last few words for the service before the flowers arrive.”   
  
Instead of a response, Connor nodded in agreement. Turning back around on the bench, his shoulders rise and fall as he prepares to start the song again. 

The next rendition sounded a little more confident, truly practicing his performance with the anticipation that, inevitably, a few dozen mourning bodies would soon be listening. Connor thought back to the recording he had listened to in the car to practice on the way over, trying not to use the same inflections but keeping in the spirit. Although, even in the car, it was hard to compete with Josh Groban.   
  
And with Father Anderson not but 10 feet away, he felt all the more invigorated with nervousness. He spent much more time during mass studying the clergyman’s face, soaking up the warm raspiness of his voice as he spoke of God. 

Connor knew it was inappropriate to think so often of him, but it had been such a delightful surprise when the priest first came to their parish. He brought a fresh breath of air to the small town; caring toward the elderly folks, and so touchingly sweet with the children. It seemed, at times, that he must have had previous experience with kids. Perhaps there was a larger youth group at his previous church?

The song came so naturally as his thoughts wandered, he had almost forgotten to flip the page of his sheet music when he realized it was almost done. If he could play like this again in just a couple hours, it would be-

Just loud enough over the last few measures of instrumental, he heard a noise from behind him. A sniff, and a breath. Connor turned as the song ended to see the priest crying with bright red rims around his eyes.

It didn’t feel right to stare at the distressed man, so Connor swung his legs around and quietly got up, sitting back down in the pew beside the priest.   
  
“Father? Are you all right?”

The tear-leaking eyes were wiped quickly by large, roughened hands. From such a close distance, Connor could see the beautiful shade of blue in Father Anderson’s eyes. A few moments passed before either could speak, and Connor fought the instinctual urge to rest a supportive hand on the man’s lap or shoulder. Instead, clasping his own together in concern.

When he did speak, the priest’s voice was cracked and heavy. “That is a beautiful song, it’s no wonder it is so popular.”

Connor hummed in thought, “It’s actually rather controversial. There is apparently some wide discrepancy, especially this version which is not technically eucharistic, that it should not be played in churches. It was originally written for a secular text, I think.”

Father Anderson produced a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping away the residual tears and the liquid that started to dribble from his nose. “I am not an expert in music, and I can hardly be considered an expert on the ways of the diocese. However, that seems odd to me,” he said, tucking away the small cloth and turning to the expectant musician. “I believe, within the House of God, music is another way of expressing our love for him.”

Heart racing, Connor nodded shakily, listening intently to each and every word.

“The panes of glass in the windows may not have been made by someone of faith, or even installed for that matter. But the image it depicts is holy, as are the words and sounds of that song.”

Connor sits open-mouthed, dumbfounded and amazed. “That is… very open-minded, Father.”

The man beside him merely shrugs, “I do ask that, should the occasion arise, that you not repeat those words in front of the bishop.”

“No, of course not!” The brunet says insistently, wondering if that opportunity would ever even happen, but his focus once again returned merely to the concerning frown on the priest’s face. “I appreciate the vote of confidence if it is, but, something tells me that the song’s beauty isn’t what caused you to weep.”

The frown twitched for a moment, “No, it is not.” 

Both of them turned and stood, hearing the sounds of doors opening and voices instructing where what goes where. “Perhaps we can discuss it over lunch?”

Smiling, Connor returned to his bench, “I would really like that.”

  
  
  
  


The mass went by in a flash, especially considering they started late while they waited for family members who were caught in traffic. The church’s administrator and co-leader of the Sunday School program, Rose, assured the lingering attendees that the flowers would be delivered to the widow’s house while they were at the cemetery. She had been a wonder while Hank was getting acclimated to the parish; her and her son loaded up her truck with the arrangements and bid the pastor and organist goodbye.

“I’m going to get changed, shall I meet you out in the lot?” Father asked, checking the pews for any remaining programs that had been left behind.   
  
“U-uhh, yes. I’ll be out soon… I’d like to get a little practice in for tomorrow first, if you don’t mind?”

Smiling, Father Anderson nodded. He wouldn’t argue with a chance to listen to more of that lovely playing. “Of course.”

He disappeared back into the sacristy, sighing heavily as he started to undo his garbs. It was one thing to enjoy the young man’s company, to hear his empathetic voice ask if he was all right. Enough years had gone by that he was amazed there were still any tears left in him to cry for Cole. 

He had started mourning for the young child poorly; drinking, driving under the influence, calling his ex-wife and angrily blaming her for everything. And then there was rehab, which quickly transitioned into joining the seminary. He couldn’t imagine trying to go back to life before that; he had become dependent on being held accountable, it was  _ good _ for him.

But looking into Connor’s eyes, seeing them gloss over with intrigue as he spoke of music earlier… it was like something familiar that he had long since forgotten. It felt like  _ affection _ . 

The music crackled through the speaker, and he whispered the Apostles Creed as he switched to his more casual garments. 

Before he was married, he wasn’t even the most devoted of God’s children. He would hardly pay attention during weekly mass, always wondering why his parents would drag him in the first place. But when Cole was born, and his ex-wife had insisted on having him baptised, and at the time he was all too happy to agree.

But that was  _ Hank _ . Now he was Father Anderson. A completely different man than he was years ago. A better man, surely. But not necessarily happier.

  
  
  
  


There was nothing easier than a simple turkey-and-cheese sandwich, right?

A few cuts from the bag of deli meat, a few slices of bright orange American cheese, a little mustard, and a leaf of lettuce. This shouldn’t be that difficult… but there was a certain distraction that seemed to make the task so much infinitely more difficult. 

Connor was slowly pacing through the parlor of the rectory, every couple of minutes make a comment about a piece of artwork or the aging furniture. All positive things, of course. Simple little phrases like: “Father Joseph,” the previous priest, “kept the house in fairly good condition.” Or, “that picture of you, is that your old parish?”

Calling to the other room, the priest would reply “Yes he did,” and “Yes it is.”

It was intolerable to think of the brunet peaking through his belongings, even if they weren’t particularly fancy or worldly. There was only a handful of pictures he kept from his life before becoming a man of faith, and those were safely tucked away in his bedroom.

But lunch was finally made, and served with some iced tea and some potato chips. It was a luxury he didn’t get often, but it was leftover from a church function a few weeks ago. They sat across from each other at the small table, the sun starting to shine a little brighter through the window as the rain passed on.

“How long have you been a priest, Father? If… that’s all right to ask,” Connor asked before taking a bite of the sandwich.

Setting his glass down, Anderson replied, “Only half a dozen years since I first entered the seminary. There is a shortage of priests in this diocese, so I was assigned relatively quickly.”

“I see… and this is only your second parish, correct?” 

He rubbed his neck, “Yes, although it has very much started to feel like home already. I’m quite thankful for that.”

“Why  _ did _ you become a priest?”

There it was: the million dollar question. 

“If you don’t mind… I’ll tell you another day,” he offers. The funeral still has him thinking about Cole, and he doesn’t want to start crying again now… even though he knows he will be later in the afternoon when Connor is gone.

  
  
  
  
  


Connor started coming over for lunch after Sunday service every week.

After Marooney’s funeral, he insisted on bringing Father Anderson lunch after seeing his soft display of emotion from Connor practicing. He asked if there was anything,  _ anything _ the clergyman would like for lunch that he normally couldn’t get for himself.

“Well.. I wouldn’t say no to a burger.”

It was the first time in years that he had eaten a fast food burger, in all of its wonderful, greasy goodness. Connor downright chuckled over the sight of him scarfing down the cheeseburger and fries, and Father Anderson was happy and thankful for the companionship. 

So each week, they would trade off who would provide lunch, and talk. About faith and worship, of Connor’s day job as a humble human resources administrator at the community college a few towns over. He enjoyed the work, even if it wasn’t music. 

“I do have a teaching degree, but, positions for music teachers are quite competitive. The community college pays well enough, which is why I don’t mind volunteering my time at St. Mark’s,” he explained.

They would discuss news of the world, of music and art. Father Anderson became a little more relaxed around him, not afraid to share some of his personal opinions in confidence. They even traded gossip from time to time. 

But, Father Anderson still kept a distance. No physical contact: no hugs, or assuring caresses. Nothing more than the brush of hands from time to time.

A couple months in, as they sat down to lunch, Connor started their conversation with a question.

“I was wondering… you aren’t allowed to perform weddings outside the church, correct?” He asked.

Father Anderson’s eyes grew a little wide. They hadn’t talked about Connor’s love life at all, and he intended to keep it that way, to keep any regrettable thoughts at bay.   
  
“I am allowed to performs unions outside of the church physically, but not outside of the eyes of God or the diocese.” He stabbed a noodle from the pasta salad with his fork, “Why do you ask?”

Connor smirked, almost hesitantly. “You see, my brother recently got engaged…”   
  


Breathing a small sigh of relief, the priest replied, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” the brunet continued. “While my brother would like a small church ceremony, his fiance would prefer something less… religious.”

“Hmmph… sounds like the two of them have some things to work out,” Father commented.

Connor was taking a sip of his lemonade when the accusation was said aloud, and a little bit of it came out his nose as he giggled. He wiped his face with a napkin, blushing up to his ears as his kind host offered him a handful of napkins and a toothy grin.

“It’s true…” he managed. “I must admit, I was not particularly fond of his partner when they started dating. But Niles just looks so  _ happy _ with him and…” Connor stuttered for a moment, “I-I apologize if that’s a problem for you-”

“No no, please. It does not bother me in the slightest. In fact, I would be quite honored for our church to host such a wedding. It would set a could example for neighboring parishes,” Father Anderson explained, taking the collection of soiled napkins and throwing them in the trash. “I would only make one request, if I am permitted to.”   
  
Beaming, Connor nodded preemptively. “Yes?”   
  
“They would need to find another organist, so that you may attend as a guest. It would be a shame for you to miss your brother’s wedding stuck behind a binder of sheet music.”

“O-oh,” the organist uttered meekly, giving in to his habit of combing his fingers through his hair to move away the stubborn strands that would fall into his face. “I hadn't even thought of that yet. But, I would like to at least perform one piece for them. It would be much more comfortable than doing one of those overused wedding readings. No offense, of course-

“None taken, Connor, I assure you.” 

The smile on his face fell, “I confess that I find myself… rather envious of my brother, Father.”

The priest's ears perked up, concerned and interested. 

“I’m happy beyond words for him that he has found someone who loves him so passionately, but…” With an elbow rested on the dining table, Connor bit on his thumb contemplatively as he looked for the words to finish his thought. “I sometimes wonder if the Lord has placed someone out in the world for me.” He breathed out heavily, eyes darting up at Father Anderson and then back at his lunch. “I thought I had found them. A few times, actually. But it would never last, and now I-” He hiccuped, covering his mouth. 

“Tell me, it's all right,” bold but chaste, Father Anderson extended a hand to reach out to Connor's to soothe him.

Connor raised a hand to meet it, staring at the open palm for too long a moment. 

With the hand not occupying his face, Connor let his hand fall into the pastor's. He wanted to melt into the warmth of the weathered callouses as he held back the flood threatening to break through.

“I have given my love to only a few, with all of my heart and soul. And each time it was time it was torn away from me,” he said quietly, letting his fingers massage into the tough hand. “I had a girlfriend in high school; she was smart and much better with people than I was. But she moved away the summer of senior year, breaking it off between us so we wouldn't have to phone over the distance.” 

Father Anderson nodded, feeling the hand in his start to tremor. 

“Then college, and I had a string bad decisions with dating. They came and went by the semester. For years, until…”

“Until?’

The worst sight in the world, Anderson decided, was the forlorn smile there on Connor's face. 

“Henry…”

The priest's mouth dropped. 

We were in the same major, tossing glances at each other in classes for three years before I finally asked him on a date. He was… perfect.” The dams collapsed in Connor's expression, tears dripping down as he gasped for breath. “He was loving, and good, and… he died.”

It was quiet enough to hear the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall above one of the smaller, decorative crosses.

“Can you tell me what happened?” The aged voice spoke calmly.

Connor winced, clutching his hand harder. “He was driving back from his parents’ house. They had thrown him a birthday party, and I would have gone if I hadn't been working that night. He s-stopped at a liquor store on the way home, he texted me what kind of champagne I w-wanted.”

It took several dozen more languid ticks of the clock before Connor inhaled loudly, and continued.

“The store was robbed, and h-he tried to be a hero.”

“Oh, Connor…” 

The young man sobbed, “I couldn't help but still love him, even as I mourned him. As if one day I would wake up next to him like nothing happened.” 

The food was long forgotten, and without another moment to spare Father Anderson… Hank… stood up and pulled Connor into an embrace.

“ _ What reason would God have to take him away from me?”  _ The words muffled into his broad shoulder.

They stood nearly motionless.

Connor had calmed down from his desperate breakdown, still clinging tightly to the starchy, white button-down shirt.

“You asked why I became a priest,” Anderson spoke in a hushed voice. “Do you remember?”

The man in his arms nodded.

“I also lost someone, before… and I still wonder why. Why it wasn't me, why it happened when it did.” Without thinking about it, he rested a hand on the side of Connor's thick hair. “I lost my son. In a car accident.

Connor went still, head turning swiftly to look on in disbelief. 

“I still search for an answer, for some… explanation. All I can do is to keep trying, and keep on living. Connor… you can find love again,” he insisted with a light shake.

“What if I have?” Connor whispers. “What if I have, but it can never be returned?”

“I can’t…” Father Anderson started. “I can't answer that for you. In what way can your love not be returned?” 

“I should not say,” the young man croaked, guilt flooding his veins and breaking apart the embrace to wipe his face. He was offered another small stack of paper napkins, taking them with a teary smile. “I am sorry for burdening you with my earthly woes.”

The priest shook his head, “I listen openly and without judgment. A troubled heart is not something to be ashamed of, and I am…” He waited for Connor to blow his nose. “I am very sorry for your loss.”

“And I'm sorry for yours… I had no idea that you had a-”

“A son?” Anderson finished. “I try not to tell to many folks about it.”

Connor tilted his slightly, inching forward in his seat. “Will you tell me?” The question was met with a hesitant pause, and he searched for an excuse or reason in the older man's face. “Will you tell me your name… please?”

The pastor shook his head warily, “I'm not sure if I… I trust you, Connor, but…” He sighed; if he were to tell anyone, why not him? 

“Hank… it's Hank.”

  
  
  
  
  


Their lunches continued each week, and each time Connor would learn a little bit more about the man Father Anderson was all those years ago. A hard-ass cop, divorced and father to a perfectly gentle little boy. One week he even got out Cole's picture; handing the antique and time-weathered frame to the musician with shaky hands. 

He told of his struggles after his child’s death, and his uphill climb to find purpose in his life again, all of it listened to with infinite patience. 

Connor promised to never use his name, even privately, but things did shift between them. The friendly gestures came and went, nothing as involved as that one afternoon. Father Anderson would pray for him nightly, hoping that he would find a solution to his mysterious, unrequited love. 

The seasons changed, summer easing into autumn as the parish started to plan for Christmas. There were hardly enough children to put on a nativity performance, but the weekly lunches were interrupted with choir practice. With nothing better to do, Father Anderson would sit and listen to them after taking confessions. There were a few easier pieces for just the children, such as “Silent Night”, which would always make the parents coo over their little ones. 

The Sunday before Christmas, mass took much longer, and the practicing chorus members took up the front few pews. Father made sure to thank them in his sermon, as well as commending Connor for his excellent service and devotion to the parish. The extended attendance for the holiday filled the church to capacity, all of them applauding the flustered man at the priest's behest. 

Connor looked up at him, cheeks burning red and a lopsided grin as he mouthed “Thank you” to Father Anderson. 

It was then that something struck him, right there on the pulpit. He had expressed to Connor how much he cared and trusted him, that smile always drew him in closer, even when he tried to hold the feeling down. He could not  _ desire _ Connor, and that was the young man's predicament. 

He returned Connor's smile with a blank stare, his chest panging with ache when the smile fell away. 

And as he had both hoped and dreaded, Connor came to confession while everyone else had gone home to be with their families. It was not like other churches where the priest and lay-person were separated. It was a simple closet of a room to the side of the pulpit. 

Father Anderson sat in his chair, glasses on the bridge of his house and still wearing the more decorative cassock for the holy holiday.

\---

  
  
  
  


There was a polite knock on the old, wooden door, before the knob turned. Connor entered quietly, looking emotionally vulnerable despite his clear attempt to be brave in the confrontation.   
  
He sat opposite Hank, hand gripped the edge of the creaking chair. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” Brown eyes flickered wildly at how calm Father Anderson appeared, so he continued with the Sign of the Cross. “In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, it has been… too long since my last confession,” he said breathily with a pained, but brief smile.

“Tell me.”

Hands folded in his lap and head bowed to the floor, Connor confessed. “I have desired for bad things to happen to those who have hurt me, such as my rude co-workers and my family who do not always understand how God made me. I have fought with my brother, speaking harshly for no reason other than my own frustrations and have not apologized, and I…”

“That’s not why you have come today, is it?” Father Anderson interrupts, sending a visible jolt through the young man.   
  
“No, Father… it’s not.” 

He takes in a deep breath, but is unable to produce the words quick enough before the need to exhale pushes it back out of him. The priest watches closely as he licks his dry, pink lips, trying once again to say something; anything.

“I have had… thoughts and feelings that I should not have. Uhh, rather… I shouldn’t have them toward…” He looks up, and speaks up a little louder before the priest can interject. “I have  _ tried _ to tell myself that nothing will come of it! I really have, but nothing seems to make it go away. And so, yes, I have continued to allow myself closer because it feels right. It makes me feel good to allow myself to pretend it will happen-”

“Connor-”

“It is selfish!” He says a little louder, more desperate. “Selfish, and wrong of me to want-” 

He’s frozen in time, frozen in the chilly pools of blue in the eyes that are looking sympathetically at him. 

“Say the Act of Contrition, and two Our Father’s.” 

Connor’s face pales, “W-what?”

“Say the prayers, Connor.”

And so he does. He speaks them softly, dreading every moment of it. With hands folded neatly, he recites each line with caution, waiting to see what will become of him.

“Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,” Father initiates for Connor to finish.

  
“F-for his mercy endures forever.”

Sighing, the priest scratches at his shaggy, grey hair. “Come over for lunch so we can talk, please?”

“Of course, Father.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


It had been Connor’s week to bring lunch, and in anticipation of the longer service than usual, he had packed the prepared potatoes and chicken as well as his small pressure cooker. He sat in his freezing cold car in the parking lot, waiting for Father Anderson to emerge so he to follow him down to the road to the rectory. A few folks were still chatting in the parking lot lot, their kids running around unsupervised and throwing half-formed snowballs at each other in their good church clothes.

He was glad that no one wanted to knock on the car window and make small talk, he preoccupied himself with the notes he made during the service about how the performance went. Not that it mattered immediately, but anything to improve for the future was useful to mark down.

From the side door, a man bundled in a thick, long coat eventually emerged. He glanced at Connor before getting into his own vehicle to drive away. Connor waited an extra few minutes before following to avoid any awkward questions the following Sunday. If… if he would even be allowed to come back next Sunday 

Hank was already inside by the time he pulled up, which left him to awkwardly carry the Pyrex dish of food and the cloth shopping bag with the cooker across the slippery driveway on his own. He took his time, not wanting to trouble Father Anderson any further than he already had. Despite all that, it was still comforting to walk into the little house and smell the perfume of holy water and incense and…   
  


“Need help with that?” Anderson asks, already stepping closer to take the glass dish from Connor to allow him to take off his winter jacket and boots.

The dish is handed off, with the soft brush of their fingers. “Th-thank you,” Connor got out meekly. He hung up his coat, even though he is unsure how long his welcome will last, and sets about finding space on the kitchen counter for the pressure cooker.

While he gets the device ready, he decides to peacefully make small talk. “I thought the mass today was quite excellent, father. There were many who attended that I haven’t seen in years.”

“That’s good to hear… I sometimes worry that a new priest will drive regular parishioners to attend mass elsewhere,” Anderson says as he takes a container of eggnog out of the fridge. “Although, I’m sure most of them came for the music. It is the best part of Christmas mass.”

“I certainly hope that it… helps. Although not many children will attend the Christmas Eve midnight mass in a couple of days, so we will have to make up for the lost volume of voices.”

Both of them allow themselves a chuckle, and Connor quips “I thought for sure that the one girl with the bright, pink dress would lose her voice by the end of it. I’m sure any car driving by would have heard her during ‘Hark The Herald’.”

“Ya know…” Father said, handing a glass of milky liquid to Connor, “There’s one song that we didn’t do that... Well, I should’ve asked you to add it to the program.”   
  


The clinked their glasses together, each having a sip and donning creamy mustaches. “Which song is that? Perhaps we could do it on Tuesday?”

“‘ O Holy Night’? It’s a favorite of mine,” Father Anderson insisted, voice a little quieter.

Connor bit his lip, and then licked away the residual eggnog just under his nose. “No one has practiced that one, but I know it, and I’m sure others will sing along.”

“You know… there’s a piano in the living room.” Father Anderson says, the space between them closing further. “Would you play it for me?”

He wasn’t sure what compelled him to agree, even though he was sure the reason he was still allowed to come over for lunch was so that he could be rejected delicately. But… Connor could still  _ try _ . Foregoing the winter coat and just putting on his puts and a hat, he sprinted out to his little car to retrieve the large book of holiday sheet music. He knew for sure that it had the song, but he almost wished it didn’t as an excuse to not embarrass himself further.

Connor found Father Anderson in the living room when he returned, the man waiting in the armchair beside the old upright piano. He set up the book, taking another sip of his eggnog, even though it would not be the greatest for his voice, and started.

“ _ O Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining _

_ It is the night of our dear savior’s birth. _

_ Long lay the world in sin and error pining, _

_ ‘Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth.” _

His audience listened patiently, silently. There were a few missed notes that he tried to swiftly correct, but if they bothered the priest he did not show it. The song went on, flowing seamlessly, and it was no wonder that it was the man’s favorite. Connor had to admit, it was one of his favorites as well… until the higher part.

“ _ Fall on your knees, _

_ O hear the angels’ voices _

_ O Night Divine. _

_ O Night when Christ was born _

_ O Night Divine, O night _

_ O Night Divine…” _

After the chorus, he fingers were trembling so hard he could hardly keep them playing on the aging keys, and the notes trickled away into uncomfortable silence again.

“I’m sorry, I-” 

“Connor,” Father Anderson said, low and serious, “Please look at me.” Taking one of the small hands in both of his own, “I too have something I must confess.”

The musician shivered, both from the soft words and the cold in his toes that started to creep up into the rest of him. 

“I want to make it clear that this isn’t your priest talking right now, this is Hank.” The hands squeezed just a little, and Connor could make out the earnest fear in his features. “You already know that becoming a devoted servant to the Lord was never in my grand plan for life. But losing my son, and my dignity, and everything I thought was good in my life changed that. Just as you have changed  _ me. _ ”

“Wh-what?”

Hank sighed and tried to smile, “Spending time with you, getting to know you, has been one of the greatest pleasures I have been blessed with in a long time. And I just want to… I want to know I’m making the right decision before jumping into anything.”

Connor blinked, his brows drawing together. “Do… what?”

His hand was raised up, and Hank’s soft lips caressed the very edge of his knuckles.

“If you want me, as I want you… it will take some time before we can be together. You know that, right?”

“A-are you…” Connor broke his hand free to tough Hank’s face, his joy cracking through the anxiousness with his eyes watering. “Would you really do that… for me?” He sprung up from the bench, kneeling on the floor with his face in Hank’s lap and immediately feeling hands smoothing over his hair.

“I never felt worthy of being loved like this again, and you have felt as though love would never find you. And who are we to deny our hearts to be happy?”

  
  


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_ EPILOGUE _

  
  


“Hank, I’m home!” Connor called out into the dimly lit home, setting down his satchel. He stretched his shoulders, smiling as the light from the standing lamp was blocked by an approaching figure. “How did it go toda-”

Smirking, Hank picked Connor up by the waist and swung him around before locking their lips together. They melted into one another, both a little shaky with anticipation. 

“Yeah, it went pretty well. I don’t think it’s a ceremony they  _ like _ doing, but none of that is my problem anymore.” He hungrily mouthed at Connor’s jaw, feeling the skin underneath wrinkle at the edges of his lips.

Connor giggled softly, “It’s been, what, seven or so years since your vow of celibacy?”

“Mmhmm… I’d say it’s worth celebrating sooner than later, myself,” Hank said, coyly reaching a hand down over Connor’s ass and peppering kisses down his neck. “Oh, my Connor… I haven’t told you enough how lovely you are.”

For the first time, and nearly a year after they first met, the meat of Hank’s hands glided around the waistband of Connor’s pants to feel his crotch. They had slept in the same bed, and laid together, but they stayed true to Hank’s vow until he was given the proper permission in the last step toward living as a layman once more.

A soft groan escaped from between Connor’s teeth, resting his head on Hank’s chest as he felt the beautifully pleasurable sensation. “Oh God, Hank…”

Hank smirked, nudging his hand just a little harder to get Connor to take the Lord’s name in vain as loudly, and in as many ways, as he possibly could.

**Author's Note:**

> Another Twitter thread adapted for AO3!! 
> 
> I really love this one, and I hope you all enjoy!


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